The wagon pulled close to the door and from its bed, two smaller figures stood erect, waving and shouting greetings. “Hey there, Mr. Jackson. We come for our yearlings.” The tallest of the two boys leaped to the ground even before the wagon halted near the barn. “Cord said it was a good day for a holiday, and Rachel couldn’t come ’cause it’s too cold for the babies, so she’s makin’ pies for dinner.”
And wasn’t that a conglomeration of reasons, Maggie thought, her smile unbidden as she caught the eagerness of the youth. Two of the yearlings would leave here today, and her mind turned in that direction. She’d chosen the best of the lot for these boys, and whether they picked her selection or not, they were guaranteed top quality animals. Her pride in Beau’s stock was second only to his own, she decided.
Cord looked at her over Beau’s shoulder and his smile faded. “Maggie?”
“Hey,” she replied, stepping backward into the shadows, her joy dimmed by his concern. “I’ll turn the yearlings out into the corral,” she told Beau in an undertone. And before he could form an answer, she picked up a bucket, filled it with grain and headed for the back door of the barn.
Across the near pasture, the yearlings gathered beneath the sparse shelter of a grove of trees, bare of leaves, but the natural gathering place for the small herd. Maggie approached the gate, shaking the bucket of grain, calling for their attention, her voice radiating a coaxing timbre they heeded. With uplifted heads and snorts of welcome, they trotted across the pasture, drawn by the woman they recognized and the rattle of feed in the bucket she held. The gate opened readily to her touch and she lured the yearlings into the corral, closing them in swiftly. They swarmed around her and she spoke to them, allowing one, then another to dip their heads in the pail, pushing them aside with a burst of laughter as they nudged her for attention.
“You’ve got them all eating out of your hand, Miss Maggie,” Cord said from the other side of the corral fence. He’d climbed up to sit on the top rail and the two boys peered between the rails at the yearlings that surrounded Maggie. Their eyes were eager, their mouths pressed into identical, thin lines as if they held fast to exuberant laughter that begged to be released.
“They’re all beautiful,” the younger lad said. “Which ones can we have, Cord?”
“I think maybe Beau has some ideas about that,” Cord replied, looking at Maggie, his eyes kind, his expression knowing. “Or maybe Miss Maggie might be the better one to ask.”
“How’d you get all banged up, ma’am?” the eldest boy asked, concern marring the lines of his brow. “You take a tumble off one of Beau’s horses?”
“Something like that,” Maggie answered, thankful for the assumption he’d made. That the thought of a beating such as she’d survived wouldn’t enter the boy’s mind said a lot for his rearing at Cord McPherson’s hand, she thought. A small glimmer of envy tainted her mind as she watched the two boys, and then she chided herself for such an unworthy thought. She’d survived her childhood, and put it behind her. She was beyond the reach of her father’s hands.
“Have you chosen your favorites for my brothers, Maggie?” Cord’s words broke into her thoughts and she smiled, her mouth painful as it stretched.
“You could say that,” she told him. “There’s three actually that catch on real quick. They’re all good-natured, mostly, but sometimes you just can’t help liking one animal more than another.”
“Kinda like people?” Cord asked.
She nodded, reaching for the halter of a blood-bay gelding. His tail and mane were lush, long and black, and ebony stockings brought attention to his slender legs. He tossed his head, and Maggie spoke firmly, a command he heeded. His eyes were intent and he followed her willingly as she approached the two youths who watched eagerly.
“This is one of the best Beau owns,” she told them. “He’s eager and smart, and if you’re not careful, he’ll lead you a merry chase.” She met the gaze of the eldest boy and nodded invitingly. “Come on over the rail and talk to him.” He obliged quickly, and she watched as his large-knuckled hands took the halter, one lifting to rub firmly against the horse’s nose.
“Hey, there, boy. Do you like me?”
Succumbing to the lure of the animal he held, the boy bent forward, placing his face against the proud head, already well smitten by the horse Maggie had chosen for him.
“Lead him out the gate,” Maggie told him, nodding at Beau, who jumped obligingly from the top rail to assist. Holding the gate ajar, Beau nodded with satisfaction as boy and horse ambled past him.
“One down,” Cord said. “That takes care of Henry. What do you have for Jay, Maggie?” His eyes narrowed as he took her measure, and then he nodded approvingly. “You’ve made a fine choice so far, ma’am. What about the chestnut with the wide blaze?”
“You have a good eye, Mr. McPherson.” Maggie pushed several horses from her path, and laughed as they milled around her. The chestnut stood firm, watching her approach and then nickered softly, ducking his head, nudging her shoulder. She slipped a piece of carrot from her jacket pocket and the yearling found it, taking it daintily from her palm.
“Come on, baby,” she crooned, leading him to where Jay watched through the rails. “Do you like him?” she asked the boy, knowing the answer as his wistful expression blossomed into a wide grin.
“Wow!” he breathed. “Do you think he’ll like me? Can I pet him like Henry did?”
Maggie nodded, and the boy scrambled over the fence, almost tumbling on the ground at her feet in his eagerness. The horse shied a bit, then leaned to nibble at the cowlick atop Jay’s head. A soft whuffle of greeting brought Jay to his feet and he clutched at the yearling’s neck with both arms. “Oh, Cord! Can I really have this one?”
Cord chuckled, his amusement contagious, for Beau joined in, laughing aloud. “I don’t think there’s much doubt about it, Jay. He likes you, all right. Bring him on out the gate and through the barn. Maggie will attach a lead line for you. Henry, too.”
Maggie followed the boy, pleased that the feisty colt was proving amiable today. They would have their hands full with the yearlings, but she could rest easy, knowing they were going to a good home. Attaching short lead lines to each halter, she walked with the two boys from the front of the barn.
“Did Beau talk to you about a pup?” Maggie asked quietly, catching Cord’s eye.
He nodded. “He said you might have one left.” Behind her, she heard indrawn breaths, and then two voices spoke, almost in unison.
“A dog?”
Cord nodded, his grin wide. “Might as well take all we can get, boys. If Maggie’s pup is as well trained as these yearlings…”
Her laughter caught them all off guard, and Maggie stifled it behind one hand. “I fear you’re in for a surprise, Mr. McPherson. We’re talking about a puppy here, half grown, maybe, but still a scallywag.”
“Just the kind we’d like to have, Miss Maggie,” Henry said eagerly.
“Yes, ma’am, the very kind,” Jay added, peering toward the house where two half-grown dogs sat at attention.
There was no choice involved this time, and even though Rascal howled mournfully, the last of Maisie’s litter was lugged without ceremony to the wagon.
In moments, the horses were tied to the rear of the wagon, and Cord had concluded his business with Beau. Money exchanged hands and Beau stuffed the bills into his pocket, uncounted. Maggie stood beside him and they watched in silence as the wagon turned in the yard, to head back toward the road.
“Part of this is yours, you know,” Beau said, patting his pocket. “Horse trainers are high-paid people hereabouts. Not to mention the money for the dog.”
“I got my pay,” Maggie said. “Just watching those boys was wages enough for me.” She sniffed, wiping her nose with Beau’s kerchief. “At least I’ll get to see the pup when we visit at the McPherson place.”
Beau’s arm circled her waist. “I hear Pony and Joe coming back. I’ll give them a hand. Why don’t you
go on in the house where it’s warm. Must be almost time for Sophie to be getting dinner ready, don’t you think?”
“Yes, all right.”
“Maggie?”
She turned to face him, backing slowly toward the house. “What? What’s wrong?”
He smiled. “Nothing. I just wanted to tell you that I’m proud of you. You did really well with the yearlings. Cord thinks you’re top rate.”
The praise brought satisfaction to her heart.
“Maggie? I think you’re the best,” Beau said. “The very best.”
She came to a halt. “And now you expect me to just turn around and go in the house and tend to dinner? Are you sure we can’t put some fresh straw in that stall you were talking about?”
He grinned, a boyish expression crossing his face. “You make me feel young again. Like all the bad things that ever happened to me never really mattered.” He stepped toward her, wide strides that covered the ground between them. “I told you this before, but I want to say it again, Maggie Jackson. You bring me joy.”
His hands circled her waist and he lifted her, boots and heavy coat seeming as nothing, and she felt weightless. Her hands reached for his shoulders and she clutched there for purchase. Then, clasped in his strong grip, she looked down at him, straight into the glowing eyes and smiling lips that promised enough love to last a lifetime.
Chapter Fifteen
“Are you going to lay there all night, not talking to me?” She’d waited long minutes, staring into the darkness, until her eyes became accustomed to the variations of light and shadow cast by the glow of moonlight. Reflecting from the snow below, it diffused an unearthly glow. In its light, she looked from the corner of her eye at Beau, there in the bed beside her.
“Beau?” He was silent, and, stricken by a sense of shame, Maggie wondered if he thought her brazen. Better to find out than ponder the thing to death, she decided, and turned onto her side to face him. He met her gaze, his eyes hooded and deep set.
“I was thinking about doing more than just talking,” he said. “And then I was wondering about where all your bruises are, Maggie. And thinking maybe I shouldn’t be pushing you too fast. You’ve only been a bride for a couple of days, and I don’t want to make you think that—”
Her hand moved rapidly, smothering his words. His lips moved against her fingers and she pressed more firmly. “Hush, Beau. You listen to me. I’m fine as frog hairs, maybe a little battered up, but shoot—that’s nothing new.” She felt his lips purse, then pucker and her fingers were kissed, then tasted. Made bolder by his response, she grinned.
“Last night,” she began, aware of the mischief glittering from his eyes, “you told me something, and I been wondering ever since how it could be.”
His head moved against the pillow, dislodging her palm, and he captured it against his cheek in a swift movement. “Which thing are we talking about?”
Now she was hesitant, but the words spilled forth, and she found that simply speaking them gave her courage. “You said you needed me.” He had said it, and in just that way. His head bent, his posture weary, he’d spoken the words, and she’d yearned to comfort him. Why such a thing should be so, that this strong, capable man needed Maggie O’Neill was beyond her, but if Beau said it, it must be true.
“So, did you mean you just need me to stay here, helping out? Or here, laying in your bed? You know, so you can do that same thing we did the first night?”
His laugh was a whisper of sound, and his grasp was firm as he turned her hand to his mouth, his lips against her palm. “I suspect I could live without you, Maggie, but I sure don’t want to try. Not now…” His mouth sent tendrils of fire the length of her arm as he whispered words that set her heart beating like she’d been running full tilt through the woods. “Now that I know what it’s like to see you every day and watch the way you do things.” She felt his tongue as he measured the width of her callused palm. “I like kissing you, and feeling all your curves up against me…”
“Beau!” He inhaled sharply as she fetched her hand from his grasp, then moved to take up the scant space between them, lifting over him to peer anxiously into his face. “You’re making me all prickly down inside,” she hissed, “making me want to do all the things you said.”
“You picked up on that real quick,” he said, sliding his hands down the length of her back. “Go right ahead and do what you please.” His voice was deep, growling inside his chest, and his hands moved unceasingly, yet slowly, exploring now beneath the white gown she wore.
“You don’t need to be still thinking you’ll hurt me,” she whispered, wiggling a bit as she slid one leg between his knees.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his fingers stroking the curve of her hips. She was motionless, admiring the skill of his callused hands on her warm flesh. Her head dipped, her forehead resting against his chest, and she inhaled his scent. “Maggie? Are you sure?”
“Um…I’ll hurt something fierce if you change your mind about me. If ever you don’t want to touch me this way again,” she murmured, her voice a whimper now as his fingers ventured further.
“Slim chance of that, sweetheart,” he said firmly. And then his fingers moved again. “Do you like this?” he asked, lifting her a bit, arranging her against his body, his hands measuring curves and hollows.
She winced as his palm fit firmly against her bottom and he stilled the movement. “I think I got a bruise there. I hit the floor pretty solid,” she told him. He lightened his touch, and she shook her head, a quick movement. “It doesn’t pain me any, Beau. Maybe my head a little, and my mouth is still a little raw feeling. Not enough to make me squirm, though. You can do me any which way you want to.”
His words were even and without inflection, as if he would not influence her to his will. “And how about you, Mag? Do you want to touch me?”
“Well, I was thinking,” she whispered, her lips brushing the curls at the base of his throat. “You know, when you kissed my bubbies, and it made me squirm all over the bed, and then you kinda pinched them a little bit with your teeth, and they got all puckered up and hard…” She lifted her head, peering through her one uninjured eye to see his face. “Maybe I shouldn’t be talking like this, Beau.”
“You can say anything you like, honey.” His hand snaked up her spine, his palm coming to rest on the back of her head. “Feel what you’ve done to me, Maggie.” His fingers cupped her nape and he pressed gently, guiding her face until her cheek brushed against the rise of his chest. There, where the muscles were firmest, a small, impudent button nudged her skin.
“My,” she whispered softly, turning her head to taste his faintly salty flavor. Her lips formed against his male nipple, tugging it within her mouth.
From deep in his throat, a groan vibrated, and she grinned, the small bit of flesh escaping her mouth. Again, she found it, captured it and savored the male scent of him, a strangely musky aroma that wafted from his body. Deep inside her, where the memory of his presence remained, she felt a flutter of response, and her thighs clenched, gripping his leg in a firm hold.
“Maggie…” A guttural whisper, like sandpaper against a wooden board, sent another quiver of excitement cascading to meet the first, and she felt the ridge of his manhood against her belly. It fascinated her, that hard, masculine portion of him that seemed to respond so readily to the pressure of her female parts. She’d felt it that first time, and even then, touching it with her fingertip, had wondered at his body’s ability to prepare for the marriage thing they’d done together.
Lifting from him, she shifted to one side, her eager fingers seeking the solid flesh of his arousal. “Can I do this?” she asked politely, hesitant, yet yearning to discover for herself the measure of that masculine member.
“Sweetheart, you surely can,” he whispered, and she felt a shiver vibrate beneath her touch. His hands fell to his sides and a sense of power such as she’d never known made her laugh aloud. She bent, smothering the sound against his chest, and hi
s fingers clenched tightly in her hair, then loosened, weaving through the strands.
Against her palm, he twitched, and the flesh she held thickened and pulsed, a drop of fluid seeping against her fingers. “You gonna leak on me, Beau?” she asked, lifting to peer up at him anxiously.
“No.” The single word was forced from him on a puff of air, and he inhaled quickly, shaking his head. “It’s just part of what happens,” he told her, shifting again, his body rising from the mattress. “Hold me tighter, Mag.”
Her fingers tightened and she moved them, awkwardly at first, then more readily, in the rhythm he set. He was solid, yet the skin was soft, like the underside of the pups Maisie’d borne. But beneath the pulsing flesh was a heavy, firm shaft, and some hidden part of her own body ached to possess it within her. Her breath quickened at that thought. And then he moaned softly, his head tilting back against the pillow. Teeth bared, he shivered again, and his words were strained and harsh. “I think you’d better quit, honey.”
“Am I hurting you, Beau?” Her hand released him and she lifted against his chest, peering fearfully at his half-closed eyes, his flaring nostrils and the intent expression he wore.
“It’s a good hurt, a needy thing you’ve made me feel, Maggie.” He rolled with her across the mattress, his arms coming to enclose her as he nudged his way between her thighs. He knelt there, lifting her legs to accommodate himself and she knew a moment’s unease, the moonlight exposing her lower body to his gaze. He lifted her gown higher, and his hands were warm against her breasts, his fingers shaping her.
“I’m gonna pull this thing over your head,” he told her, easing it up, then lifting and entangling her in the yards of white material. Arms caught up in the long sleeves, she wiggled to escape, and his whisper soothed her. “Just lay still there. You’re fine, Mag.” Her head was freed from the neckline and she twisted a bit, aware of his hands holding her arms, keeping her captive.
“Let me loose,” she told him, and watched as he shook his head, bending to form her fingers to the iron bars of the headboard.
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